Don't Bring out the Rum!
by relicka
Summary: After days of boring meetings, the FAG trio have drunk every single drop of wine, cognac and beer in Germany's house, so Germany decides to give them the last alcoholic drink he has in store in enough quantity to keep them calm: rum. Rum? Rum! Hell no, not the rum! Intended to be Spamano, maybe. Rated M NOT just for Francis, Antonio and Gilbert out without a leash & Romano's mouth.


Previous Data: why is it that when the FAG trio is out to no good, the greatest victim is always Arthur? XD

**WARNINGS: **

-The FAG Trio is drunk, expect them to be ooc.

-Romano. That's enough warning.

-I may add more warnings if there are more chapters.

-Dis sis not Beta'ed or wAhtsoeber.

**Disclaimer**: i love playing with these characters. So I stole them away :C I mean, they were not mine. But they are now! Or not. When this fic is complete i'll return them… perhaps. Anyway, I gain absolutely nothing by writing this. Not even some dignity :'C

**Don't bring out the Rum!**

It was about midday when Italy Romano decided to show up in the lobby of the luxuriously stupid hotel they were staying in damned fucking Berlin for a World Meeting. He had woken up around 10:30 a.m., he had lazed about for 45 minutes delaying his getting up time, took a bath, had breakfast in his room (brought by a fine looking maid with whom he flirted for a little bit), carefully picked out his clothes and shoes, fixed his hair to a totally perfect natural look, put on some cologne, and strode out.

This was the fourth day of consecutive meetings and discussions and debates and whatever in the fucking capital city of PotatoBastardLand, and heck, how he hated to know he was standing in that hell of a PotatoBlock's vital regions! His boss be damned for forcing him to come here, not that he was actually doing much though, he had made his stupid sibling attend every little meeting while he tended to other important matters, such as, you know, scribbling on the hotel's wall with a permanent marker to piss off Germany and, using his breath to write obscene stuff with his fingers on the window's glasses (so that they'd be visible when the windows fogged over) and, using the permanent marker to draw mustaches and monocles on every ugly painting he found in the hallways (only those from Italian painters were spared, cause, duh, art is only art when it's Italian!) and, flirting with the maids and, you see, just making sure the German hotel was a general havoc enough to embarrass him in front of the visitors from all over the world.

So, smiling contentedly and thinking of talking with the lady at the reception desk because of her nice bosom, he entered the lobby walking and feeling like a boss. And froze in his tracks.

He closed his eyes, opened them. Closed them, opened them.

But they were still there, Spain pinning England on his stomach against the floor, a great battle axe in hand, laughing like a mad man. The pervert that was France was squealing like a girl to the side, mumbling stuff in that horrid crap he calls French, while the potato bastard with ocular blood overflow shouted and jumped around, encouraging the Spaniard and preventing anybody from coming closer to them.

Everywhere around, the whole world was yelling. Literally.

…Wut dah fuq was going on? An axe? W-w-w-w-why an axe? And…

"S-S-Spain…?" he tried calling with a trembling voice. It's just… the guy looked totally out of control… it was absolutely justified for his voice to tremble, alright?

The wild asshole didn't even look at him, as if he hadn't heard him, but he stopped laughing, smirking instead. Fucking smirking! A smirk that looked even… sexy! Or might not be 'even' but, it seemed it was totally intended, for he proceeded to get his head closer to England's ear, and spoke. Scratch that, he totally growled.

"_¿Qué pasa, Inglaterrita? _You don't like this game ehnymorrre?" He growled out. Sexily.

"G-g-get off me, bloody wanker! I demand that you explain yourself this very mome-WaAaAAaH! Don't do thaaaat!" The British _wanker_ became cherry red FUCKINGCHERRYRED when the bastardo LICKED HIS EAR and laughed like crazy again. What in the seven hells was happening here! Didn't the asshole hate England with a passion? Why did it look like he was trying to rape the prick in the fucking lobby at a World Meeting in front of Romano?!

"_Antoine!_ Let him go! That's enough! _S'il te plait! Espaaaagneeee!_" Wailed the blue faced French fucker trying to approach his bastard friend.

"Kesesese! Let him, Franchie! We can't miss this! Hey you, Swissy! Back off, or you gonna get your head chopped off by me awesome friend! Kesesese!"

To the side, some countries were seriously considering jumping in to save England, such as Swiss, who even had his gun in hand (pointed to the ground), but didn't dare fire in case he shot England or any of the other countries in the back. And to be honest, the other possible helpers who weren't armed were frightened by that axe, which even had something dark stuck to the blade that may very well be dried blood.

Some other countries were almost rofl'ing, and some others laughed quietly.

Too shocked to understand a thing, Italy Romano decided this was a nightmare. And you can't die in nightmares, right?

Trembling like a leaf (it was cold in the freaking lobby! He wasn't scared of the _bastardo_ even if he was behaving like he was crazier than Russia or something!) he got inside of the circle of nations, where the freaking Spaniard was straight out biting MonsterEyebrows's neck until he drew out blood as the latter shouted in fury and pain (and please don't tell me that blush was from being turned on!), while the blond GayAss was trying to pull the _idiota_ apart from the RottenScone, but that didn't seem to be working.

"Romaaaanooo! Romaaaaaa! Loviiiii!" The albino freak shouted towards him, startling him because he wasn't expecting that. You can't blame him for it since it was so sudden, damn it. "Whoooohooo! Loviii! Wanna join in? I can arrange it! Hey, Toniiiii! Lovi says he wants in, too!" Putting an arm around his shoulder, the _cazzo _shouted everything he said, like the fucking world wasn't there to hear him, fucking fucker!

"WHAAAAA-WHAAATareyousaying, BeerBarstard! Iwon't-idon't-iwant-i-i-i-SPAGNA! CHE MERDA STAI FACENDO!" _(it: Spain, what the fuck are you doing!)_ The thought of joining in to Spain doing pervy things did NOT make him flustered, nope, it was the RAGE at seeing the bastard doing something so perverted with someone el-that's not it! Romano was angered to see them doing such indecent stuff in such a public place and, by the smell coming from the bleached-potato bastard, they were doing it because they drunk all the alcohol in the whole damned Europe.

While Romano threw the Prussian's arm away from him in anger, Spain raised his body, straddling England, and looked up at him.

And leered.

"_Heeeey, hola, querido_. I hadn't seen you before , _pero sois realmente encantador_. I can make room for you if you really want to join in, after all, this little bitch likes it rough, so the more, the merrrieeerrr…" (Sp: _hello, dear_ […] _but you are truly enticing_.) Rolling the ers, speaking low, and using the tip of the blade to push against Eyebrow's neck (on the side opposite to where he had been biting) until some blood rolled down, he was akin to a feral beast hovering over its prey. And he was sexy as fuck. Nuts, but sexy as fuck.

Still, Romano felt his blood freeze in his veins. What? "W-what do you mean you h-h-haven't-"

"Make way to the hero!" Walking in like he owned the damn place, interrupting Romano, making England go quiet, shutting up the wailing France who was hugging Spain's arm and almost crying, making Prussia raise his eyebrows in amusement and shutting up the crowd, Ustupid States entered the lobby. "Ahahahahahaha! Everyone turns silent when faced to the great me! Now what's with the commo-"

And he froze.

"Uh… Iggy? I didn't know Sir Kinkland had this kind of kink-"

"IT'S KI**R**KLAND! Hurry up and save me, I'm being attacked here, idiot!"

With this exchange, the world was put into motion again. Romano, still feeling like this was the worst kind of nightmare in the history of EVER, was carefully approached by Veneziano. He barely registered him saying, "Veeee, nii-san, i-it's a bit dangerous here… l-l-let's retreat a bit…" and being dragged a bit backwards as he had no choice but to let America try to get some sense into Spain's brain.

"OH so that's how it was… eh… ANYWAY! Spain! I can't let you kill Iggy or rape him or both since I'm the HERO! So get your ass off him or I'll crush your ass and your economy!" The country personification of obnoxiousness shouted towards the _bastardo_, pointing his fat finger towards him.

"Oh? And who may you be_, don héroe_?" _(sp: sir hero)_ The Spaniard asked, looking amused and using the chance to lean forward in his straddle and placing a kiss at the point where the axe touched CrappyScone's flesh. Some blood stuck to his lips, and the freak just had to lick it off as sensually as possible 'cause he was just that bastardly.

"Don't play dumb and get off hiiiiim!" The hamburger idiot squeaked in a high pitch. The dude seemed to want to jump in ad hit the living crap out of the Iberian nation, but any sudden movement and England's head was forfeit. Now, that didn't sound so bad, did it? According to Romano, at least. However, as Spain leaned down again and this time licked the blade and the neck and the blood soooo slooowwleeeeee Romano almost felt himself dismay. And the English douche, instead of yelling at him, trembled. FUCKING TREMBLED, HIS FACE ALL RED AND IF THE WORLD DIDN'T KNOW HIM BETTER YOU MAY THINK HE JUST MOANED INSTEAD OF WHIMPERING.

The oversized hamburger brat stared unmoving as his ex-caretaker writhed in something that couldn't quite be called resistance from under Spain. Not that Romano, nor anyone, was moving.

"_Ah! M-Mon ami!_ Don't dooo thiiiiis! He's miiiiine!" France finally decided that he did not care about the fucking axe, and grabbed Spain by the neck, trying to pull him away from his victim.

"¿Eh? Since when?" Frowning, the guy gone nuts lifted his face from Eyebrow's neck and turned to France, stared at him for a whole second, then kissed him. OH GOSH WHY WAS SPAIN KISSING FRANCE! EVIL FRANCE, FUCKING FRANCE! France, wide eyed at first, hungrily returned the kiss, even making it a french one, maybe because he felt the metallic taste of the stinky British man in the bastard's mouth. Or maybe because he was also a bastard. Romano had to force himself to look away from that. N-not like it hurt or anything, it was just plain disgusting watching the passion the _idiota_ was putting into that action, and he was kissing the WORLD'S BIGGEST PERVERT, of all people and countries.

At that moment, the United Stidiots realized Spain was distracted, cleaned some blood dripping from his nose with his sleeve, and made to grab the axe, just to be tripped over to the floor by a white blur.

"AHA! You'll have to take on me first, dude! No one steals THE AXE and lives to tell the story, so this is for your own good, lad! Thank the awesome me while you're at it! Kesesesese!"

"Uwah! Prussia! You! Why don't you stop your crazy friends! When will you ever stop terrorizing the world! I, the almighty Hero, will stop all of you this very moment!" the four eyed fatass declared as he got up from the floor.

What was this, the world cup of obnoxiousness' final or what…

The two started a stare contest, standing a couple of meters away from each other, pretty much copying a showdown between a couple of cowboys in any crappy American western movie you may pick.

On the other side, Spain was sooo into the kiss with the French fucker that he did let go of the axe in order to throw one arm around the French's back and to grab his cheek with the other hand (while still straddling England. Note that the French prick still had his arms around the Spaniard's neck).

England noticed the weapon's clang to his side, breathed in relief, made a cunning face, and grabbed the axe as best as he could, and tried to throw it away towards the Halloween Fanatic, while yelling, "America, catch it!"

Key word:_ tried_.

"Ah!" The RottenScone went red in the face in a second.

The weapon didn't even fly 60 centimeters away.

"Eh, England…" The flight was so pathetic even America looked away and pretend that such an uncool thing never happened. The self-called awesome bastard, however, started laughing in the most obnoxious laughter he could muster, and the surrounding people, including Romano, of course, couldn't hold their laughter in either.

The noise did, however, wake up the horny bastards from their make out session, and in the time it took for Ameridiota to look back to the weapon, Spain half stood up, reached over, grabbed the axe, and pointed it back at the fucking English man's neck.

"Uwahh! Wait, since when were you so fast!" The amerifucker complained.

"Hm? Ajajajaja, it's the rum, sweetheart, drink more than four bottles a day and you'll be as fast and strong as a young bull~!" The idiota answered sending a LUSTFUL WINK towards that bastard of a coke brained asshole.

"Don't call him that, bloody drunk Spaniard! And let me go already! You've played enough for the day, have you not?!"

Spain looked back at him, and as he opened his mouth to answer some smartass thing or whatever, he was interrupted by fucking France, who threw his body on top of bastardly England and yelled,

"_Antoine! S'ilteplaitS'ilteplaitS'ilteplait!_ As your lifelong friend, I ask you to drop the blade already and stop playing with _mon petit lapin_, pleeeeease!"

"Who's you're fucking bunny, you pervert wanker of hell! Screw you!"

"Spain! Quit harassing Artie! If you keep doing that, the whole world will see he is the biggest sou-uke born since the beginning of time!" Dorkamerica yelled from the side.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DORK GET YOUR ARSE OVER HERE I'LL SHOW YOU HOW TO TALK TO YOUR ELDERS RIGHT THIS INSTANT!"

Totally ignoring England and rolling his eyes, Spain spoke. "Don't be such a bore, the three of you." He then looked at both France and the Hamburger bastard, and continued, "Do you not wish to share instead?"

"Hey! How come you aren't inviting me!" Potato Bastard #2 jumped and tried to pout but the pout looked puke-inducing-disgusting in his damned face.

"Hm? Oh, of course you're invited, Gil! What are best friends for if not for fucking enemies together? _Ajajajajajaja_!"

At that, Germany's BeerdrinkingLeech showed a wide smile, opened his arms, and threw himself at the bastard's arms, with a loud "TONIIIIIIII!"

"Aww, GIIIIIIIIIL!" Of course the idiot had to hug him back, still holding his axe in hand, and thus letting England go. In the background, Romano registered France jumping England's neck but he didn't see much more because BASTARD SPAIN WAS KISSING FUCKING PRUSSIA AND OH WHY WERE THEY KISSING LIKE THERE WAS NO TOMORROW DAAAAAMN IIIIIITT!

"SPAGNAAAAA! Quit kissing the whole world like a freaking horny bitch, DAMN IIIIITTTT!" Romano finally had enough, he needed an explanation, he needed it now, and he needed SPAIN TO STOP BEHAVING LIKE HE WAS FRANCE'S LONG LOST TWIN OR SOMETHIIING!

Suddenly pulling apart from the Potato Bastard #2, but not separating from him, he looked towards Romano and said, "Heeeey! Isn't that the hottie from before? Want to join in now?" He said, tending his hand towards him and making a happy-go-lucky, almost innocent smile like he so often did… BUT WHY WAS HE INVITING HIM TO KISS WHEN THE BIRD BASTARD WAS KISSING HIM TOOOOOOOOOO! AND HE HAD MOVED TO KISS HIS NECK, WHILE SPAIN DID NOTHING TO PUSH HIM AWAY!

Red with rage, and definitely NOT something else like jealousy or excitement or a mix of happiness and embarrassment plus rage, Romano inhaled some air to shout and…

"Oh, then how about you all become one with mother Russia, da?"

…

THE CHILLS.

Everyone froze in place, and Romano stood there and didn't run away like a frightened school girl in front of a serial rapist because he was an adult man, brave and strong, and not because his legs were trembling like jelly or something. That was absolutely NOT the case.

Well, everyone caught that this was something dangerous, everyone but the ever KY-Spain. Of course. He merely moved his head to one side, and said, "Hm? You want to join in too? But that's too bad… I have already claimed _Inglaterra_, so I can't let you have him today..."

"Eh?" The Russian smiled innocently. "But since you are all going to be one with me eventually, then it doesn't matter if I have him today or tomorrow, da? I guess I can watch as you have your way with him before you hand him over to me."

"HOLD ON! WHY ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT HAVING ME LIKE THIS, I'M STILL HERE AND I AM NOT YOURS, NEITHER OF YOURS!" The loud fucker known as UK bellowed from in between Creepy France and Fucking USA, who seemed to have been fighting over the fucker before Russia intervened.

_"__¿Eh?_ But I tackled him first, so his ass is legitimately only mine to take!" Was the Spaniard pouting? WAS HE POUTING AND WHAT WAS WITH THAT CRAPPY LOGIC!

"EH-?" Before the Russian could ask anything about this, the crappy cooker England yelled:

"WHA—STUPID ASSHOLE! This isn't the eighteenth century anymore, that rule exists no longer!" What did the English fucker say?! When did such a rule exist!? (It's not like Romano wanted to go and tackle the Spaniard after hearing that, n-no. As in, no. NO, BAD MENTAL IMAGE, STUPID MIND, STUUUPIIIIID).

"¿Eh? What do you mean, you backing off, _querido_? Or could it be… arrre you soberrr? _Ajajajaja_ because that would be sooo rretarded, _darrrling!"_

"Vhat?! How come the awesome me didn't know 'bout thaaat!" "Wait! When did such a rule exist!" The albino bastard and the French _cretino_ both interjected, both absolutely interested in such a enormous _perverzzione!_

_"__¿Eh?_ I never told you? It's all about a little deal I have with little _Inglaterri_-"

"WHAWHAWHAWHAWHAT ARE YOU SAYING SPAAAAAIN! DON'T TALK CRAP JUST SINCE YOU'RE SO DRUNK RIGHT YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE SAYING SO GO DIP INTO THE OCEAN AND DIIIIEEEE!" Flushed red, that nemesis of every gourmet person shouted like he was trying to stop _Spagna_ from saying something he shouldn't. He wasn't even making much sense. Ha! Wasn't he trembling and sweating? Now I was positive the whole world wanted Spain to continue where he left off!

"_Ufff…_ go and die without screwing you first? Not a chance, _dearrr_! If I fall o, I'm sooo bringing you down with meeee!" Smirking dangerously, Spain sent a dark chilly stare in the English prick's direction. "And besides, you know I'm a hell of a good swimmer when I'm drrruuuuuuuunk~!"

Of course the idiot didn't catch on what we all wanted him to say.

"Uhm, Spain, then if I tackle you, I can have you?"

"""Eeeeek!"""

The Russian had t-t-t-this totally like, like, creeeeeeepyyyyyy eyes as he looked at the bastard. I kind of wanted to shout at him to run for his life, while all the other nations felt cold and pitied Spain from the bottom of their hearts…

"Ah, that cannot be, sorry! This is a deal just between the two of us, so you can't join in!" Still half hugging a shivering Prussia, the _bastardo_… the_ bastardo_ even looked sorry to say this, not even catching onto being in extreme danger under Russia's stare!

"Ehhhhh? Then can't I just take you by forc-"

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!"

And that yell was what saved fucking Spain from becoming one with fucking Russia, oh si.

**Author's Note:**

…You're free to think whatever you want about my sanity after reading this…

…this may or may not be continued…

…this may or may not rot your brain. (I should have written that at the top!)

…if you ask about my other spamano fic… I'm working on it! Very slowly, but I am! So it will be complete someday, da, it will. Still, I recommend you not to read it because it was left with such an awful cliffhanger you'll want to cut my limbs bit by bit to force me to finish the story… XD


End file.
